


Happiness Is A Warm Gun

by DemonDean10



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, BDSM, Blood and Violence, Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Guns, Inspired by Barry, Inspired by James Bond, Inspired by Killing Eve (TV 2018), Inspired by Mission Impossible, M/M, MI6 Agents, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Smut, Violence, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDean10/pseuds/DemonDean10
Summary: J. Paul McCartney is 009, an MI6 assassin with an incapable record and a new target:George Harrison, the peace guru that's creating problems for the government.John Lennon is an expert seducer and assassin, socialist, and martial artist with a new target:George Harrison, the peace guru that's creating problems for the socialist organization he works for.With the same target, the assassins will either kill the other to finish the job or work together and maybe...something else?
Relationships: Brian Epstein/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hewo fwiends
> 
> heres a new story yay yay yay yay
> 
> warnings: they're violent and a bit crazy in this story, cause they kill people for al iving so the mood of this story is very much dark but also comedic. like Barry i've you've seen that.  
> I hope you like it.

**St. Petersburg, Russia. December 31st. 11:56 pm.**

No one at the garden party noticed the cold breeze coming from the barely open skylight, nor the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet. 

The lithe figure moved silently and expertly in the dark house, covered in black from head to toe. 

“There should be a corridor to your left.” Came the voice from his earpiece, too cheerful for what they were about to do.

The figure turned as told and crept along the hall, ignoring all the priceless paintings and sculptures. Finally, he reached an oak door at the very end and checked to see if it was locked.

It was.

Swiftly, the man fell to his knees and removed a metal device from his belt then placed it against the handle. The door clicked as it unlocked. He slithered in and looked around.

The study was dimly lit by the fireplace behind the wood desk, where a man sat slumped against his chair. There was a glass of vodka next to a stack of papers that went ignored by the man. He wasn’t here to gain information. He already had the information. 

The short and stout, balding man that slept on his chair was snoring loudly, with drool dripping into his suit.

But the man wasn’t here to judge him. 

He was here to kill him.

Swiftly and professionally, the man took out his gun and cocked it. No silencer for this mission.

The grandfather clock ticked. People were cheering outside. 

He pressed the gun firmly into the man’s temple.

“ _ Ten...nine...eight…” _

The sleeping man snorted, nodding his head. His assassin readjusted the gun.

“ _...four...three...two…” _

The clock struck twelve.

People hollered happily.

The gun went off and the bald man slumped forward into his desk.

The snoring had stopped.

Silently, a gloved hand arranged the gun in the dead man’s right hand, his dominant hand, and took out a carefully crumpled piece of paper from his belt, setting it against the glass of vodka.

Then he straightened up and walked away. Through shadows, he moved back to the living area and he took the top hanging from the small opening at the skylight. With the press of a button, he was moving up and out like a ghost.

Once he was out in the cool winter air, the voice in his ear spoke again.

“Congratulations, 009.”

“Ta, S.” The man answered with a grin hidden by his black mask. He looked up at the fireworks that were launched into the air and let out a sigh.

“Happy New Year’s.” Said Ringo from his desk all the way back in MI6 headquarters.

“Happy New Year’s.” Answered Paul, already running off the roof and jumping into the cold lake that would take him to his car.

He’d done the job, as quick and proficient as always. They didn’t call him the best for nothing.

* * *

**Monaco, South of France. January 1st. Midnight.**

The club was packed to the brim with drunk socialites and naughty politicians. Young people kissed as old creeps leered, while an expensive band screamed into the microphone. Up a flight of marble stairs, an abundance of rooms could be found from which moans and screams were heard.

It was in one such room that a young man lay with his wrists tied to the metal bedposts. He moaned and twisted as a vibrator hummed inside him, fighting against his bonds. 

A tall man stepped out from behind a velvet curtain, holding a remote and a whip on the other hand. He was dressed in a skin tight spandex suit from head to toe, though his erection was clear. “That’s right, moan for me, bunny.”

Indeed, the young man was wearing an elaborate bunny costume made of leather, along with a collar with a bell.

“Oh please, Master!” He cried out, “Fuck me!” The whip fell against his legs and let out a pleasured shriek.

“I’m the Master here,  _ slut _ .”

His bunny whimpered.

“But then again,” His Master said, “You’ve been here all day and you’ve been so good...It is a new year, after all.” He turned off the vibrator, chuckling at the audible sigh of relief, and after one last whip to his boy’s calves, threw that away too. He crawled on the bed, positioning himself dominantly over the tied up man and growled at the sight.

His bunny spread his legs with an obscene moan, straining against her leather cuffs keeping him captive.

“You’re delightful.” The tall man whispered, running his hands all over the younger man’s body. He came to rest upon his thighs, right below where the leather dress ended. “Look at these, made to be spread-“ And he pushed them wider apart.

The young man made all sorts of wanton sounds as the man removed the vibrator and lifted his legs up to rest them on his shoulders.

“I’m gonna make you my bitch.” 

But the bunny wasn’t moaning anymore. Instead, he just smirked. “Oh, honey. I don’t think so.”

The leather clad man froze. “What-?”

In an instant, the bunny had wrapped his thighs against the man’s neck and started to squeeze. The punches and scratches of the man did nothing other than amuse his assassin, who took his time suffocating the man.

He could still hear the music and shouting from downstairs, along with all the shrieks of pleasure around them.

He brought his master’s face close to his own and spoke, “And by the way, my actual name’s John.”

His captive let out a choked cry.

And with a twist of his legs, the assassin snapped the man’s neck.

The tall man slumped forward, but John pushed him off the bed with his foot before he could touch him, groaning in disgust. “Pathetic.” He laughed. His ‘master’ had been a 60 year old politician who’d required nothing more than a fluttering of the lashes to get in bed. John had never been more bored. 

Swiftly slipping out of the barely tightened handcuffs, John stood up and took off the ridiculous costume as he stepped over his dead target, throwing it on top of him. Luckily, there was a shower adjacent to the room. But before he got in, he searched the dead man’s clothes and took out all his cash, grabbed his gold cufflinks and tie pin, as well as his Rolex. Might as well.

He’d done the job, fun and creative as always. They didn’t call him the best for nothing. 


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, another chapter in one day.   
> yay. 
> 
> i hope you keep liking it.

**London, England. MI6 Headquarters. January 3rd, 6:13 am**

Agent 009, real name James Paul McCartney, top MI6 Assassin with kills in 32 countries...was bored. He’d been brought in on what was supposed to be his first day of holiday in seven months for an ‘Emergency assignment.’ But he’d been sitting in his boss’ waiting room for thirty minutes and he hadn't seen any sign of an emergency.

He’d skipped his morning tea for this.

Just then, his partner came skipping around the corner. Richard Starkey, code name S, was an analyst and his guy in the chair. 

Paul grinned widely as he spotted the tray of cups his friend carried. “Oh, I love you.”

Ringo, his more civilian ‘code’ name, laughed and offered him the drink. “Yeah, I figured you’d skip yer tea. I thought you were going on holiday.”

Paul took a sip of his tea and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so did I.” He was supposed to visit his dad and brother up north. Jim McCartney thought his son was an accountant in a law firm and his brother made fun of his boring job. If they only knew…

Finally, the door opened and M appeared on the doorstep. “Come in, boys.” He said with a thin, yet kind smile. M was the youngest Head of the Secret Intelligence Service of all time and as such, wasn’t as careless of his agents like previous heads. Despite the secrecy regarding his life, he made sure to get along with spies, analysts, technicians, assassins, etc. Everyone respected him and everyone liked him.

Paul and Ringo walked into the office, eyes widening when they saw the people gathered.

Ron Richards, head of MI5.

Edward Sullivan, head of the CIA.

Norman Smith, Chief of Defense Staff of the British Armed Forces.

“009.” Said Smith. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please sit.”

Both Paul and Ringo sat next to Richards’ assistant and waited expectantly for the cause of the meeting.

M sat down and offered them a folder each, looking grim. 

“You have a new target.”

* * *

**Surrey, England. Kenwood Apartments. January 3rd, 6:23 am.**

John leaned against his flat’s door as soon as it closed behind him, dropping his bags on the floor. He was exhausted and ready for a break.

Not bothering to pick up his bags, he shuffled farther into his apartment with a yawn. A whole day and a half of traveling, he didn’t want to hear anything but relaxing music for the next month. Just as he was passing by his library, a hand fell over his mouth. Instantly, John elbowed the person behind him, dropped to the floor, kicked their legs from under them, and pressed a knife against their throat with another at their crotch. 

Brian Epstein, his handler, stared up at him amusedly. “Nice to see that those martial arts classes didn’t go to waste.”

John didn’t move the knives, but he did grin. “Aw, what a lovely homecoming.”

Brian chuckled. “Can you remove the knife from my bollocks now?”

Tilting his head, the younger man hummed. “Why? You need them?”

His handler raised an eyebrow. “Very much so.” He answered. 

John pressed himself flush against the man with a smirk. “Care to show me?” He whispered, pressing a kiss against Brian’s jaw. 

“Right after I tell you about the new job.”

Instantly, John was off him with a groan. He stood up elegantly and marched off. “No.” He said, “I just got back from Monaco.”

“I know.” Brian said, dusting off his suit. He retrieved a newspaper from his jacket, showing a french headline highlighting the death of a right wing extremist politician. “Apparently they found his body in a leather suit handcuffed to a bed?”

John chuckled as he entered his bedroom and removed his shirt. He’d moved the body to the bed and handcuffed it after he’d left the shower, if only so that the room looked more tidy. “What can I say?  _ Someone  _ had to show him how handcuffs were tightened.”

Brian entered the room, eyeing John up and down as he took his clothes off and marched into his closet. “Well, good job. They think the suit suffocated him and his scared partner ran away with his valuables.” He followed John into the closet, “But Madame wants you to take care of another threat.” 

John, in the midst of choosing a sleep robe from his collection, barely caught the manila folder thrown at him. “Who is it?” He asked. 

* * *

“His name is George Harrison.” M said, nodding at the picture in Paul’s hand. 

Paul looked at the blurry picture of a young man with long, raven coloured hair. He was dressed in white, with an orange shawl around him. He exchanged a confused look with Ringo and looked up.

“Who is he?”

* * *

“He’s the leader of a peace movement that’s been gaining traction in the past few years.” Brian explained.

John frowned at the picture and read the notes. “He’s a socialist- how is he a problem for us?”

Brian sighed. “His non violence advocacy is very popular, reaching all levels of people.” He scowled and said, “Our supporters are turning against us.”

John hummed. Yes, it had been some time since their movement had advocated for peace.

* * *

“He speaks against the government, uses nonviolent means to nevertheless sabotage American and British military efforts.” Sullivan said. “He appears only before a few chosen followers; this is the only photo we’ve managed to get of him.”

M spoke up again, “The popularity of the military, both American and British, is falling at an alarming rate. We can not afford to lose public support while dealing with the more violent communist threat rising in the underground.” He shook his head with almost regretful eyes.

“Harrison and his followers are a threat.”

* * *

“He must be eliminated.” Brian said coldly.

John sat back on the bed, now fully dressed, and searched the folder. He frowned when he saw nothing more than a few propaganda posters and some more photographs. He looked up at Brian.

“So where is he?”

* * *

“Your mission is to track him, find out the reaches of his organization, and kill him.” M said to Paul.

Sullivan spoke up again, “We imagine that we’re not the only ones looking to dispose of him, but you must be the one to pull the trigger.”

Paul nodded, already thinking of how he was going to go about the mission. 

“Don’t worry, sir. I won’t let anyone get in my way.”

* * *

“No doubt he’s got a couple of governments after him.” Brian said as he took out a cigarette. “You might have to deal with some secret service characters or maybe even Americans!”

John stood up and went over to him, stealing his cigarette. “Don’t worry, Eppy.” He said after taking a puff. 

“I won’t let anyone stand in my way. Harrison is mine.”

* * *

**MI6 Headquarters 10:34 am**

“So he was last seen in Hamburg, Germany.” Said Ringo, going over files on his computer. “Apparently he gave a speech to some kids. An anti-fascist group.” He gave a wry smile, “Can’t day I don’t like him.”

“It doesn't matter if we like him.” Paul said, looking at his watch. “His methods are a threat.”

“Right. His ultra peaceful methods.” Ringo murmured.

Paul just sighed at his friend. Ringo was truly too nice for this job. Sure, he never had to kill somebody but he was in Paul’s ear every step of a mission. Paul, on the other hand, had a cold heart and didn’t care much for death. He hadn’t always been this way and god forbid his family ever found out how frozen he’d become, but after his time in the army it had been easy to accept a job doing what he was good at: Killing people. He looked down at his watch and groaned. “She’s late, I’m going down there.”

He was talking about E, their American weapons specialist and second in command of their research and development division. There was a bet about who would be the first to discover her real name, a spy or an assassin. She was a nice woman that looked completely normal for someone who designed guns and bombs for a living. 

Ringo chuckled as Paul went into the lift to get down to her division. “You’re funeral.” He said. E didn’t like to be hurried. 

Paul knew this, of course, but he was eager for this mission to be over with. He didn’t care about Harrison or his movement- he was tired and he was irritated. He would find the man, interrogate him, and kill him. Besides, E liked him. She thought he had cute hair.

As the lift doors opened into the development department, he noticed that it was a bit quieter than usual. Most people were working on their computers or taking notes around a mechanic display. He walked further in, returning the multiple smiles he was given, until he reached the door to the testing area.

And then it became apparent why it was so quiet outside. A crowd of dozens was gathered around the test track, watching as a slick car raced around a series of ramps, bombs, traps, and lasers. The car sustained bullets, raced through fire, ran over spikes, and dived into a pool with no difficulty in getting back out. 

Paul made it to the front of the crowd, visibly impressed. He whistled as the car evaded a pretend building by riding almost on its side. It was an amazing piece of technology.

Finally, after a few more tricks, the car screeched to a stop and E got out, looking smug. As people clapped, she spotted Paul and her smile grew. “009.” She said as she approached. “Did you like it?”

Paul whistled, still partly looking at the car. “Bloody marvel.” He praised.

“Good, because it’s yours.” She threw the keys at him and crossed her arms.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Really?” He reclaimed.

E nodded, also smiling. “For your latest assignment.”

He resisted the urge to hug her, knowing it would be unprofessional. Instead, he just laughed and walked over to inspect the car. “Your design?”

“The latest of a long line. Seeing as you’ll be traveling much for this, M thought it would be good for you.”

Paul rested his hand on the hood of the silver car and hummed, “He was right.”

“He often is.” E said, then clapped Paul on the arm. “Come on, let me show you how to drive it- then I’ve got some other toys for you.”

Paul gave her the keys, “You’re a marvel.”

“I know.” 

Paul followed her out. 

It was time to pack.

* * *

“What do you think? Too risque?”

“John, you’re not killing Harrison in lingerie.”

The assassin crossed his arms and pouted. “Why?” He whined just to annoy Brian. “I’ve killed people wearing less clothing than this.”

His handler sighed from his place on the bed, where he was eating chocolate covered strawberries. They were his weakness. “This isn’t some man you can seduce and then drown in a pond- he’s a secretive peace guru.” Brian said. 

John stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head. “I’m taking the lingerie anyway.” And he went back into the closet. 

Brian finished his strawberries and stood up. “Well,” He started, “Knowing Hamburg, it’s likely you’ll get to use it at one point or another.”

“That’s the spirit!” John called out. 

Brian grabbed his coat and scarf, taking out an envelope with John’s ticket, passport, and other necessities. 

John’s head stuck out from the closet, “You’re not leaving?”

Brian shrugged with a thin smile. “I’ll see you when you come back successful.” He told him. “Just don’t fail.”

“Right.” Whispered John, then forced a smile. “I won’t.”

Brian left him with a wink. 

John stared after him, wishing he would have at least stayed to bid him goodbye at the train station. He and Brian had been lovers for years, stealing nights when they could, but what they had couldn’t be called a relationship. They both had multiple lovers and with Brian being John’s handler, work was always too present in their lives for them to truly relax. John didn’t know anything about Brian that didn’t have to do with the movement and Brian knew too much about John for him to be comfortable. After all, it had been Brian who’d found John in a street corner selling his ass for a couple of pieces of bread and offered him a job. 

Brian saved him and John had been desperate to repay him all these years. With every kill, every infiltration, every seduction was for Brian. Sure, he believed in the cause and all- but no one could have convinced him to become an assassin apart from Brian. 

Their socialist movement had originally been peaceful, much like Harrison’s, started by Madame Ono. But soon it became apparent that marches and art shows weren’t convincing any governments to abandon war, they turned to more violent means. And hell, it worked better. John would have thought it sad if it hadn’t promoted him from Brian’s boy toy/assistant to top assassin. And at least he got to put those martial art classes Brian got him to good use. 

He walked back into his closet, heading towards his weapons safe. 

It was time to pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C8  
> please comment. leave a kudos. come talk to me in tumblr at @fanficmoi and/or @yellowroombarine

**Author's Note:**

> comments are welcome C8
> 
> hi i want to put a guide here for who is who
> 
> M is George Martin  
> E is Linda   
> Madame is Yoko  
> Ringo doesnt have a code name


End file.
